Marjorie Farrell Read Free

the raw young footman facing her grandfather, the old earl, whose eyebrows were as mobile as hers and whose looks were positively murderous. With Lady Arden, it was the resemblance, not the suggestion of murder, that intimidated, and Hoskins left his encounters with her ready to bully the next servant he met in order to restore his equilibrium.
    Arden’s eyebrows had gone up at this rather unusual summons from her father, but she shrugged and told Celia she would be with her shortly and walked slowly toward the library, unconsciously resisting her father’s demand for promptness.
    She knocked briskly and her father called her in.
    “Thank you, my dear, for coming so promptly. Please sit down.”
    Arden seated herself on the leather sofa and waited for the earl to take the chair opposite. Instead, he stood in front of her, his hands behind his back. He had decided to start gently, but was not going to give up the advantage of his height.
    “I understand from your aunt that this Season has not been as successful as we had wished?” He decided that a question might work better than a direct accusation.
    “I’m not sure what you mean, Father. What has Aunt Ellen said to you?” His daughter looked not at all concerned and quite genuinely puzzled. Whatever else Arden was, she was no liar, and her father knew that it was going to be difficult to reach an understanding if she were truly ignorant of the disaster.
    “Ellen has told me that you have earned yourself a title, so perhaps the Season does not seem a failure to you?” The earl could not resist the sarcasm.
    “A title? No, I have received no offers.” Arden looked confused, and then laughed. “Oh, you mean the fact that some people call me the Insufferable.”
    “So you are aware of it,” the earl asked, surprised by her nonchalance.
    “Oh, yes, I could hardly not be. But it means nothing, Father. The ton is always categorizing someone. There is, after all, the Golden Ball and Poodle Byng.”
    “And now Arden the Insufferable. It does not disturb you?”
    “Why should it? I care nothing for the gossips. And it is only jealousy after all.”
    “Jealousy of what?”
    “My position and wealth, perhaps. I don’t know, but it does not concern me, Father, so it need not concern you.”
    “And how many offers have you received since you earned this title?” inquired the earl quietly. Had Arden been an officer under him, she would have been quaking, for the quieter the earl became, the more dangerous.
    “Why none, Father. But I am not particularly interested in any of the men I’ve met. In fact, I am not that interested in marriage.”
    “What do you propose to do with yourself after the Season is over?”
    “Why return to Stalbridge, of course, with Celia and Aunt Ellen. I was hoping that you would come with us. Do you have enough leave for a summer visit?”
    The earl ignored her question. “And if Celia receives an offer?”
    “She does seem to be very friendly with Lord Heronwood, although how that stilt-legged young man could attract anyone, I’m sure I don’t know.” Arden smiled up at her father, expecting him to grin in appreciation of her sally. Instead, his eyebrows were drawn together in a frown, and she was reminded of her childhood view of him as a great raven, staring at her over his beak. Although he is a little more like a magpie now, she thought inconsequentially, with those streaks of white in his hair.
    “Yes, Lord Heronwood. A young man known for his kindness to others, his generosity…”
    “His fortune,” teased Arden.
    “And his shyness.”
    “Yes, those attenuated types are often shy,” replied Arden coolly.
    “Do you feel no regret for the pain you have caused him and evidently others?”
    “Pain, Father?”
    “I understand that you made him a laughingstock one evening.”
    “Hardly. I did compare him to his namesake. And people laughed, as they usually do. But ton gossip is often far crueler than a little mockery.